


Aftermath

by Finnboy (Wobin)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-23
Updated: 2004-06-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wobin/pseuds/Finnboy
Summary: Written for the X-files Red Shirt Lyric Wheel.Thanks to Waterfall for the lyrics





	Aftermath

Empty. Hollow. Have we won? Is this what we've fought for? I look around at the faces around me and see the echo of what is within me. Is it too late for us to live our lives? Two thirds of the world's population is decimated by the 'reseeding' a conglomeration of the efforts of the resistance to prevent the colonisation, against the scientific know how and reach of the colonists. If administered early enough, there was a 50% chance of survival. Even later, people were willing to take the risk. The other path led to madness. We had not enough resources to vaccinate the entire world. Not nearly enough people to save. Not nearly enough time.

 

 

The sun reaches over the horizon, staining the sky with light, the grey of predawn fading, spinning across the spectrum towards a pure blue. The purity of the light washes over the pale faces of the remains of the resistance, standing before the burnt ruins of a huge funeral pyre. Eyes, long used to darkness water in pain, but we do not turn away, staring into the cleansing fire. Comrades lost in this final Pyrrhic victory, friends lost in the flames, sent on their way, winging through the spiralling smoke.

 

 

Mind numb, I stare into the slowly dying coals of the pyre, fading finally after the night long vigil. After being rescued from a research centre of the Consortium, it seemed natural, logical to join the Resistance, aid in destroying what had almost destroyed me. A large part of the Resistance was of my type, with a similar history. We were the lost, the broken. The ones with little to live for, with little life left to live. Only a sense of vengeance keeping us on this earth. We were the fanatics, the zealots, but faithless, believing no longer in a god, no higher power. Innocence and faith long torn from our bodies, our minds through 'experiments' and 'enhancements' administered.

 

 

I had a sort of loyalty, I suspect. Deep seated confusion as to whether to thank or hate my rescuers for bringing me back. Swinging from an almost puppy dog gratitude to a soul deep hatred. They dealt with the mood swings of the 'rescued' well, I'll give them that. The small group of leaders, a mixture of intelligence agencies, America, Russia, China, all working together, all leading from the front, a tactic that earned them respect, it being so far from the Consortium's man behind the curtain attitude that the smoking bastard developed. The upper echelon also suffered casualties, losses felt far more than the majority of bodies lying in state, due to the focus bent on them. Huddled together, the remains of the day take comfort in one another.

 

 

A cool breeze, laden with morning fog wends its way across the forested edge, accompanying us as we bury underneath our feet the remains of what's been left behind. The morning chill soaks its way into our bones, aching already from the battle fought and we move slowly feeling twice our age. A solitary black marble headstone marks the focus of this mass grave, its unmarked surface awaiting the time when we could spare the work required to etch the lives of the lost into the stone. Blank gazes focus somewhere beyond the mound of freshly turned earth as muttered half remembered prayers are spoken by those that still believed, the murmur of different languages and religions blending into a soft mourning keen.

 

 

The sun, now over the horizon washes the area with a surreal glow, almost seemingly too cheery and bright for the scene contained within. It burns off the chill, the mist, the dew glistening like tiny jewels inset in green. The forest awakens slowly, the wildlife surprisingly unaffected by the destruction meted out. One by one we turn, facing into the light. There was only one way to go now. Into the sunlight, away from the darkness that we have lived too long in. Hoping that one day, we can regain what was lost, rebuild what has been destroyed.

 

For only hope remains.

 

__

_Crown of Scars_

_performed by Lifehouse_

_lyrics by Jason Wade_

_Forget about the fight to wear the crown of scars_

_Cause you've already won_

_Forget the pain and leave tears behind you_

_Bury underneath your feet the remains_

_Of what's been left behind_

_Cause you have got a long, long way to run_

_But now you dance the rest of the way_

_And you don't look back_

_Can you hear that angel singing_

_As you rise_

_Now you fly away_

_And you don't look down now_

_And you laugh til you can't laugh any longer_

_As you watch your chains fall to the ground_

_Will you fall against the wall that you have built_

_With your own hands_

_When you trip upon the thorns that you have tied_

_Your legs together with_

_When you walk upon thin ice you know you should_

_Not be walking_

_Why do you wonder why that you fell through_

_Now you fly away_

_And you don't look down now_

_And you laugh til you can't laugh any longer_

_As you watch your chains fall to the ground_

_I know you laugh_

_And show tears_

_Smile down at your fears_

_From where you are_

_From way up here_

_You know nothing's ever looked so good_

_Nothing ever looked so good_

_But now you dance the rest of the way_

_You don't look back_

_Can you hear that angel singing_

_As you rise_


End file.
